Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(17)

So obsessed with the idea of meeting the land prince did she become that at last she went to the Sea Wizard and made a bargain: in exchange for her voice he would give her land legs. But there was a catch—if the beautiful land man did not kiss Clio within a week, she would wither and die.…

—From The Curious Mermaid



Mary gasped and instinctively tried to pull away from Lord Blackwell’s embrace.

But his grip was firm—he wouldn’t let her retreat. Instead he held her firmer…and opened his mouth over hers.

He overwhelmed her with sensation. The softness of his lips, the slight rasp of his cheek, his fingers long and strong on her cheeks.

She’d never been kissed before.

This…this was…a revelation. His mouth was hot on hers, his chest firm. She could smell him. A lemon scent, perhaps from his hair, and a hint of tea.

She felt her controls slipping. Felt him urge her on—toward what she wasn’t sure. She mustn’t. She mustn’t.

But part of her wanted what he offered.

Freedom. Sensuality. Bliss.

His tongue ran along her bottom lip. She tentatively opened her mouth, answering him, gasping in sudden wild heat when she felt his tongue touch hers.

Only to have him abruptly let her go and step back.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice husky. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Shouldn’t he have?

She gazed at him thoughtfully. Color had crept into his cheekbones, and his mouth was reddened, highlighting his black hair and blue eyes.

Lord Blackwell really was a most handsome gentleman.

And she wasn’t entirely sure she’d wanted him to stop kissing her.

She wanted more. More from the kiss. More from him.

More…something.

And, frustratingly, he’d decided that now wasn’t the time to provide it.

Was he playing with her?

Mary spun and strode into the garden to hide her face and compose herself.

“Mary,” the viscount called behind her.

She didn’t stop.

He cursed under his breath, and she heard the crunch of gravel as he came after her.

She squared her shoulders, focusing on the garden. She’d spent many an hour overseeing her charges in the back garden at Caire House and in public parkland, but she’d never simply walked in a garden for pleasure. For herself.

It seemed somehow decadent.

The Angrove House garden was rectangular and enclosed by a stone wall. A gravel path made a loop around the garden, with geometric beds in the middle. A few flowers bloomed in ordered groupings among the small, clipped boxwood hedges, and several apple trees were espaliered against the walls.

Mary descended into the garden with Lord Blackwell by her side.

“I hope I haven’t offended you,” he said at last.

She was very conscious of his taller form. Of his heat, radiating to her.

For some reason it made her particularly irritated. “Why would I be?”

He darted a glance at her, his beautiful eyes narrowed. “I did embrace you without permission.”

“You’ll be doing much more than that soon,” she said before she could stop herself—and then felt warmth climb her cheeks. Blast it.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see one side of his mouth curl, but he didn’t take the opportunity she’d presented to say something risqué. “It must be very strange to you, this arranged marriage.”

She looked at him and then away again. He seemed quite sincere.

“It is,” she admitted, feeling a bit surprised at the thoughtfulness his question implied. “I don’t know why you suffer it.”

“I haven’t any choice,” he replied, his voice low. She looked at him and saw that his expression was wry. “I must abide by my father’s pact with your father. To do otherwise would be to dishonor my family and my name.” He stopped and faced her. “I was born to someday become the Earl of Keating. This marriage is but a small part of that destiny.”

“But…” She searched his face, looking for any doubts. “Isn’t there a part of you that yearns to fly free from all that? All the…the…constrictions of your title?”

He hesitated, glancing away for a moment, and she thought he might simply give her a pat answer. An answer without any substance.

Then he looked back at her, and while a corner of his mobile mouth curved, his bright blue eyes held a hint of melancholy. “Yes, sometimes. I’m not an automaton, moving without thought or emotion. I do sometimes think of rebelling against my father, abandoning London, and upsetting all his mechanisms.” His lips quirked. “But you see, it isn’t just myself that I have to think about. I have a mother and sisters. A rank that includes the responsibilities of land and people. Tell me, should I be so selfish as to think of only my wishes?”

Her brows drew together as she parted her lips.

He pressed one finger against her mouth, forestalling her reply. “And if…if I were to do so—think only of myself—have you considered that such a course would not bring happiness in any case? At least not to me.” His look was rueful. “I love my mother and sisters. I don’t want to be estranged from them. I even feel an affection for my father, though we see eye to eye on very little.” He inhaled. “No action is done in a vacuum. What I decide to do affects many others. That’s why I will fulfill my father’s promise to marry you.”